Given Up
by JFW1415
Summary: One-shot song-fic to the song Given Up by Linkin Park. The white-coats have made a fatal mistake; they've created an Eraser with emotions. They mark him for destruction, but then decide to give him a chance. Will he be able to kill to save his own life


_**D**__**ISCLAIMER: Maximum Ride belongs to James Patterson. Given Up belongs to Linkin Park and whatever company they are with.**_

_**CLAIMER: Any new plot ideas and characters in this story are mine, unless otherwise noted.**_

* * *

**Given Up**

_Wake in a sweat again  
Another day's been laid to waste  
In my disgrace_

I jump up, a cold sweat covering my body. I've just had a nightmare, but the second I wake up enough to process that thought, I can't remember it. I run my hand through my hair, grimacing as my sharp claws scrape my head. My nightmare has caused my to Earserfy in my sleep.

I lay back down in my cot, my eyes wide, staring at the white ceiling above. I try to get back to sleep, but I can't.

An alarm sounds.

_Stuck in my head again  
Feels like I'll never leave this place  
There's no escape_

Hundreds of other Erasers hump out of their cots at the sound, immediately awake and alert. I follow their example, getting up and searching for my boots under my cot. My hands close on the laces, and I pull them out. I de-Eraserfy, knowing that if the trainers see me morphed, I'll be punished.

Hairy arms push me aside as I fumble around for some clothes. Everyone is rushing, desperate to get to the door first. They're all excited about the torturing they get to give today. I'm dreading it.

_I'm my own worst enemy  
I've given up  
I'm sick of feeling_

Ours trainers, strong men with weapons that kill, file into the room, barking out orders. I yank my combat boots on, hurrying to catch up to the others. They lead us out of the room, prodding at our backs, pushing us along. The other Erasers begin to growl.

A few of them can't wait, and they begin to morph. Their yellow teeth begin to grow and sharpen, and their mouth fills with saliva at the hope of devouring a defenseless experiment. Their nails become thicker, and their hands clench into fists.

"Stop!" one of the trainer's yell. "Do not morph yet." Several of the Erasers slow down to calm themselves and return to human, but others are too excited. They continue to morph.

"I said stop," I hear a trainer whisper right next to me. I flinch, but he isn't speaking to me. He jabs his rod into the fully morphed Eraser next to me, who howls in pain. He clutches his chest, his breathing ragged, white showing in his eyes. He sinks to the floor, and the other Erasers step over him, not paying his pain a second thought. The trainer smiles.

_Is there nothing you can say  
Take this all away  
I'm suffocating_

I'm pushed forward by the mod of Erasers, leaving the dying one to writhe alone on the ground. I should know not to look into the rooms off of the hall by now, but I can't help it. My eyes are drawn up to the little windows on the doors, and I see little children inside, unconscious or screaming. Wings, claws, or tails stick out of them, and they get poked and prodded by the surrounding whitecoats.

We were to be their killers.

_Tell me what the fuck is wrong  
With me_

The other Erasers are bloodthirsty, living each day on the hope that they would be able to tear a creature limb from limb.

I'm different. Every time we are ordered to execute one of the experiments, I have to shut down my brain in order to fight. I don't want to kill anyone, and it shows. I get whipped daily for being so weak.

The whitecoats torture us, egging us on until we are blind with fury. The other Erasers take it out on the experiments they place before us, who need to be retired. I've never wanted to take it out on them; they're not the ones who made me angry.

_I don't know what to take  
Thought I was focused but I'm scared  
I'm not prepared_

The whitecoats shove us into a room, locking the door behind us. We've been here a hundred times before. It's were we feast on warm flesh; flesh we tear from the live bodies of wild animals. Our prize? Failed experiments.

The training room.

We don't get to kill experiments here, but they bring in animals for us to practice on. Our eyes quickly adjust to the dim light, and we see hundreds of monkeys, running around in a frenzy. They can smell our hunger.

_I hyperventilate  
Looking for help somehow somewhere  
And no one cares_

The whitecoats have warned me again and again that if I don't begin killing, I'll be retired. My eyes rest on the mirror on the wall, and I know that it's two-way. They're watching my every move. If I don't please them today, I'll be dead by nightfall.

My eyes lock on the monkeys, and I let out a roar.

_I'm my own worst enemy  
I've given up  
I'm sick of feeling_

I jump into the tangled mess of claws and tails. There are too many bodies for me to pick out a single monkey; every time I attempt to swipe with my fatal claws, another Eraser gets in my way. I know the whitecoats expect us to just slash blindly, not worrying about who gets in the way, but if I was actually going to murder something, I was going to be selective about it.

I back up, trying to make sense of the mob, when I feel claws rake through my back as if it were butter. My jaw clenches, but I don't react. I've been trained to expect pain.

I reach my hand behind my back, and I rub the sticky substance between my hair-covered fingers. I bring my hand around and stare at it.

I could never inflict the same pain upon an innocent creature.

_Is there nothing you can say  
Take this all away  
I'm suffocating  
Tell me what the fuck is wrong  
With me  
God!_

I look back at the mirror, knowing that it is my last chance to impress them. My last chance to change their minds.

My last chance to live.

But I can't. I look into the tangled web of bodies, where punches are being thrown and received, where claws slash through flesh, where teeth clamp down. I know I need to go in there, but I can't.

The sickening sound of the monkeys' screams quiet, as more and more fall to the ground, limp, lifeless. It finally ceases all together, and all that can be heard is the heavy breathing of Erasers. I stand there, staring at the remains of the fight. The fight that decided my fate, my death.

"Very good, very good," a trainer says over the intercom. The Erasers all stare up into it hungrily, knowing better than to eat before the man's voice allows them to. "You may now feast upon you prey. No experiments today. Number two oh nine, come to the door. Trainers will be waiting."

_Put me out of my misery  
Put me out of my misery  
Put me out of my  
Put me out of my fucking misery_

Two oh nine. How well I know this number. The other Erasers know that it's my number, but they don't give me a second glance; instead, they push and shove, trying to get to the still-warm meat of the monkeys' first. It's not like I'm the first Eraser to be killed, why should they pay any attention to me?

There was a group of Erasers who were slowly being killed, one by one. I'm the last one, since the whitecoats hoped they'd see an improvement in me. They had made a mistake while creating us. They were turning us out as quickly as they could, hundreds at a time, trying to keep the imprisoned experiments locked up, and kill the escaped. For some Erasers, it was just one bad wing, a missing eye. All of those mistakes were simple to fix.

Mine wasn't.

While creating me, and many others like me, all part of that pathetic group, they didn't add enough predator. Because of that, we're too human; we actually have emotions. No matter how many operations they perform on us, no matter how many brutal trainings they put us through, we can't be changed.

So we're murdered.

_I've given up  
I'm sick of feeling_

I walk over to the door, trying to ignore the sounds behind me. I can't get the pictures out of my mind; I've seen them too often. Sharp incisors ripping into flesh, scraping against the brittle bone. Dark, sticky red dripping down their chins and throats, the same that was on my back, drying. The high-pitched whine of the odd monkey who had simply been knocked unconscious, now eaten alive.

And the Erasers favorite: plump white eyes. They'd rip them out of their sockets with their claws, throw them into the air, and catch them in their mouth.

Like popcorn.

Their laughter fills my eyes, louder and louder, taunting me. I finally make it to the door, my jaw clenched tight in an effort not to scream. How could anyone do something like that, and then laugh?

The metal door was swung open after the lock clicked outside. Two trainers stood there, guns in their hands, smirks on their faces.

"Follow us," one says, letting a small laugh slip from his mouth. I look down to the floor, seeing the pool of blood that was forming around my feet. I hear the trainers' heavy boots begin down the hall, and I follow, without looking up. I've been down this hall a million times.

It leads to the torture room.

It's not actually called a torture room, but that's what the other Eraser's have named it. I'm not sure how many have actually been in there, but I have, hundreds of times.

Trust me; the name is very fitting.

They come to a stop at the end of the hall, then stand on alert, one on either side of the door, just as they had at the training room. They look right past me, down the hall. In their eyes, I'm already dead.

I know what to do. I step forward, trying to keep my shaky breath under control as I raise my hairy hand. I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing that this would be the last time I entered the room, that this air would be some of the last I ever breathed.

I close my hand into a fist, then slowly tilt it forward, two times. Knock, knock.

_Is there nothing you can say  
Take this all away  
I'm suffocating_

"Enter," a cold voice says from inside the room. I lower my hand to the metal knob and slowly twist it, wanting to prolong entering the room. I'm sick of my life, but I don't want it to end.

I just want a different one.

My eyes immediately adjust to the dark room; one of the few benefits of being an Eraser. I walk inside, my eyes darting along the walls.

This will be the last room I ever enter. The chair the man motions to will be the last I ever sit in. These steps will be the last I ever take.

I sit.

The man walks over to me, a vial in hand. "Hello, two oh nine." My name, simply a number. Would I have been given a real one, under different circumstances? If I had been raised as a normal human? "Just relax. This will only take a moment." He slips a needle into the vial, slowly sucking out enough of the poisonous, yellow substance.

"Guess we don't need to disinfect the skin, do we, two oh nine?" the whitecoat asks with a chuckle. He approaches me, and I can make out every step he takes. The clock ticking seems louder. The wall in front of me blurs.

I guess my life wasn't meaningful enough to flash before my eyes.

_Tell me what the fuck is wrong  
With me_

"If only you had learned," he muttered, rolling up my matted sleeve. My arm muscles are tense, attempting to ward him off. "Killing people isn't terrible, as long as you have a reason. The experiments we have executed are failures, much as yourself. If you're not killed, the world will be full of failures. We can't have that, now can we?" He places the needle to my skin, and I fell the cool metal against my skin. My entire body feels like it's on fire, except for that one spot.

I don't want to hear it, but he continues. Was he trying to convince himself that what he was doing was right? "That's the problem with humans; they're too weak. They aren't willing to kill. That's why we're doing this; creating a new race, an undefeatable race. You, unfortunately, are not suit for it." I swear he laughs as he says the next part. "You are a failure, so I will put you out of your misery."

He pushes in the pump with one swift movement, and the liquid immediately mixes with my blood. He pulls the needle back out, tosses it in the trash along with his latex gloves, and leaves the room.

Leaving me to die alone.

I feel a coolness spread from the spot the needle touched my skin, throughout my entire body. My face begins to flatten, and my hair disappears as I de-Eraserfy. My breathing becomes weaker, and I can hear my heart beating in my ears.

Thump, thump, thump.

The light on the ceiling seems to be calling out to me. It enlarges and shines down, becoming a second sun.

I've never seen the original.

It grows and grows, until I become blinded by it. Still my heart beats, only slower.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My hands and feet fall asleep, thousands of tiny needles pricking them again and again. The feeling spreads up my legs, up my chest, until it covers my entire body. Millions of tiny needles.

My head begins to throb, and my throat tightens. I struggle to get air past it, although I wish I could just give up. But my body won't allow me to.

Stupid survival instincts.

I realize that my heart is beating slower, softer. I can hardly hear it. I close my eyes and strain to hear it. I feel torn in half – literally and figuratively. I want to die, but I want to live first. I want to see the sun, the wide-open sky.

My own personal sun continues to glare down at me, just like everyone else in my life has.

The poison is finally working. My heart beats, and I count the seconds for the next one, like counting how many miles away a storm is. I nearly laugh, amazed that I think such thoughts in my last moments on Earth.

Thump…Thump…Thump…

And I'm gone.


End file.
